CHAPTER 8: The Mistress Learns Her Place

Celeste's silver gown no longer looked like armor.
It looked thin under the chandelier, too bright for the shame gathering around her.
She stepped back from Grant, as if distance could rewrite the last ten minutes.
Leonard's attorney asked her to remain available for a formal statement. The words were calm, almost gentle. That made them worse.
Celeste looked toward the guests for sympathy.
No one rushed to give it.
People who adored scandal from a safe distance suddenly became fascinated by their champagne glasses.
Grant tried one final time to control the room.
'This is a private family matter,' he said.
Leonard glanced at the marble hall, the cameras, the security, the attorneys, the donors, the woman carrying his grandchild, and the man who had stood still.
'No,' Leonard said. 'This is a liability.'
Ava almost smiled.
Not because it was funny.
Celeste had spent the evening collecting small victories: a laugh from a banker, a photograph beside Grant, a rumor planted near the bar. She had never prepared for a room where all those victories became evidence of motive.
The chandelier made every tear she fought back look public.
Because her father had always known how to make rich men understand pain in their own language.